Secrets Don't Make Friends
by I'm Miss World
Summary: HIATUS CM Punk's reputation is shattered after he finds out the dirty little secret his girlfriend has been hiding. CM Punk/OC by Cara Mascara, Madame Reject and Shelliosity
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the WWE.

**A/N:** There will be some co-writers in this story. It's me, Madame Reject and Chris.Jericho.Holic. This chapter is written by yours truly, Cara Mascara.

* * *

**Secrets Don't Make Friends**

**Prologue**

I should've known. Even her name sounds like a slut's name. _Zandra_. 

Slut!

She fooled me though. Oh yeah, real good. Made me look like a fuckin' idiot. And it's not like she didn't know it would piss me off. She knew. That's why she hid it. She hid it damn good too.

I was clueless. I had no idea. I thought she was everything I wanted. Perfect. I even got her tattooed on the back of my shoulder. As a pin up girl. I told myself and everyone else I'd _never_ get a girl's name tattooed on me. And technically, I guess I didn't. Just her perfect body and her perfect face. But when you're in love like that you do dumbass things I guess.

Oh well, at least I don't have to look at it.

I hope she looks at that fucking 'CM Punk' text in a heart on her hip every day and feels like shit.

If Shannon weren't such a pervert I'd never have found out. Luckily, his perversion came in handy this time. I think. Damn it.

Seriously, when I tell a girl I love her I fucking _mean _it. I don't mess around with shit like that. I gave her everything! I got her away from some abusive dick and treated her like a damn princess. She fucking moved in with me when she had nowhere else to go. I fed her, and hell I took her on the road with me a few times. Introduced her to all my friends. My family.

And she made me look like a goddamn joke.

Not only does the whole roster know, but my boss, my friends, my family, my fans. They all found out. And now people think I'm fake. A poser. A fucking liar!

I pride myself in my morals. I _don't_ drink. I _don't _smoke. I _don't_ do drugs. I _don't_ have promiscuous sex. And I certainly _don't_ date nasty stripper whores.

At least, I didn't. 

Until she played me for the fool that I obviously am.

I found out through a picture message. Shannon snapped it, sent it to my phone and then called me. He asked if it was her. It definitely was. The hair. The body. And I could see the tattoo, even though I couldn't make it out. There she was, hands gripping a thin, chrome pole. Completely topless.

Bitch.


	2. Chapter 1: Of Classless Jobs and Bad Boy

**Disclaimer:** We don't own the WWE

**A/N:** Okay, so unfortunately, Chris.Jericho.Holic wasn't working out as a co-writer. She just didn't seem to have enough time on her hands to work on this story. However, we now have Shelliosity as a co-writer. This first chapter was written by Madame Morrison, Shelliosity and me all together. So enjoy and let us know what you think. Oh, and there's character pictures in my profile for you all to look at if you want.

* * *

**Secrets Don't Make Friends **

**By Madame Morrison, Shelliosity and Cara Mascara**

**Chapter 1: Of Classless Jobs and Bad Boyfriends**

"Let's hear it again for the amazing Ms. Roxy Cox," the host announced as I left the stage, slipping a satin robe over my bare shoulders.

I stepped into my dressing room. My shift was over and now Candy was taking over. What is my job? Well, it's not what you would probably call classy, but hey, it sure does pay the bills. And anyway, this is Chicago. You'll probably see more people like me everywhere you go in this city.

So, what's my life like? Well, I can tell you right now, that it's not full of rainbows and butterflies with a cherry on top. Nope. You might think this is just another sob story. But it's _all_ true. I can promise you that with every word.

My parents were just like every other Tom and Mary of America. Good, moral-based citizens that only wanted the best for their little girl. They wanted to raise me to be occupied behind a desk when I got older and graduated college. They wanted to me to get married and squeeze out a puppy or two. They wanted me to be just. like. them. Unfortunately, I kind of just about, ruined their plans for me to be Miss Super Perfection.

I never did good in school. Well, high school to be exact. My parents pressured me to get the highest grades I could get. That fucking sucked.

_'Zandra, you better get an 'A' on your next test.'  
_  
_'Zandra, honey, you must study to get a good grade.'_

Zandra this, Zandra that, well Zandra was fucking pushed over the limit by those fucking assclowns. Pressuring me didn't do any good, but instead made me stressed like there was no tomorrow. But yeah, you can bet your sweet ass that I tried my hardest. But B's weren't allowed in my family. Second place was just another term for failure. There was zero tolerance for failure in my family.

I eventually dropped out of high school and got kicked out of my 'rents place when I was eighteen. That's when I met Jude Bradford. He became the one I thought I was head-over-heals, in love with. But I soon found out that he wasn't anything like I thought he was. Not at all. Even though he constantly gets angry at me, I still love him. I don't know why, but I do. I guess it's just because he takes care of me, having me live with him. But I bring in the money for the bills, just to help out.

Somebody walked into the dressing room. It was Janet, the owner of this lovely little joint called The Body Shop.

"Hey babes, you goin' home?" she asked me, with a lit cigarette hanging loosely between her cheap cherry red lips. She had about twenty-five pounds of make-up caked onto her face. She was a hell of a lot older than me, but still got some ass in this joint.

I put on my jacket and grabbed my messenger bag. "Yep, I gotta make it on time, or Jude's going to be pissed."

She made a face. "You still with that fuckwad?"

"Yes," I said, slightly annoyed. "And he's not a fuckwad. He just gets pissed off easily. He's a nice guy. Honest."

Janet didn't seem to believe that at all. "Yeah well, whenever I see him act even the least bit humanly, I'll have children with Brad Pitt."

I rolled my eyes. "Good luck with that, Janet. I gotta go. I'll see you tomorrow."

"See ya, hun," she said, walking off. Her heals clicking down the hall floor.

With all my things, I headed out of the club and to the apartment. While I was walking, I counted the money that I received tonight. A cool, thick, five hundred dollars. I love the specials we get.

Making my way down the street I slipped the fresh, crisp bills into my pocket. The last thing I need is to get mugged in this hellhole people call a city. Lamps lit up the streets as I kept going. Night owls pass me with mumbles under their breath. What, they've never seen a blonde chick in ripped blue jeans before?

So I guess you're wondering why I'm walking, especially since I just left a strip club? Well, there is a reason…as much as I'm ashamed to say it, I will. And that would be; because Jude has my car. He was a fucking idiot and crashed his own about a month ago while he was intoxicated under God knows what.

I love that guy to death, but I really should get my head straight. Jude is sweet when he wants to be, although he isn't dressed in a suit with a smile on his face and his hair slicked back; what he had was enough to sweep me off my feet.

Some Cinderella I am, huh?

Ugh anyway. With the five hundred I received tonight, I can hopefully put some food in the cabinets and pay some of those bills Jude keeps putting off. No matter how many times I try and tell him, _'Jude, your cell phone bill needs to be paid'_ or _'Jude don't forget to pay the oil so we're not walking into an icebox,'_ he's just not going to do it. Jude is way too busy doing a line, smoking a joint or whatever the fuck else he does.

I'll admit my job isn't the classiest thing in the world, but being a drug dealer isn't any better. It kills me though, Jude is a smart guy, everything would be so much better if he put his mind to something more then dealing in the streets. But who am I to talk, really? I mean, considering my job, like I've noted before.

And surprise, surprise. I may be a stripper, but I'm no drug addict. Might be weird for most people, not everyone can say they've been in a relationship where they were totally fine without drugs while their partner was a coke fiend or a pot head. To be quite honest, I can't stand seeing my boyfriend taken over by drugs. Back then when I was real young, probably in elementary school or whatever, I never understood what people meant by addiction or how it could consume a person's entire life.

I've now realized Jude is the living definition of it.

It is so unbearably sad.

Coming up the steps to our apartment, I reach for the doorknob and as I go to turn it I notice I'm not getting anywhere. I wiggle the knob, thinking the door was sticking again at first.

You can't be serious?!

That bastard, I can't fucking believe this shit head! He's locked me out! Reaching into one of the pockets of my messenger bag, I search for my house key. Nothing. What the fuck?! My right palm slams down on the face of the door followed by an angry kick.

Still nothing.

That retard is either asleep or out roaming the streets again. Sighing, I turn and walk down the steps, making my way over to the side gate of our apartment. I unlock the gate, reaching my hand over and pulling on the latch, slip through and shut it behind me. Our bedroom window is facing the pathetic excuse of a backyard and hopefully it was left unlocked from the last time I had to jump through it, but with my luck, it won't be.

Suddenly I heard heavy metal music blasting from what seems to be our apartment, which means that Jude must be home, he's just too deaf to hear me banging. I drag one of the patio chairs over to my window, placing it in front of me and stepping on to it. When I was fully on the chair and found my balance. I unlocked the metal hinges on the window screen and placed it on the ground, up against the house. I pushed real hard to open the window. This place is so old that everything sticks.

To my surprise the thing was open.

I slipped my messenger bag off my shoulder and dropped it down onto my bed before lifting myself up, crawling through my window and landing onto my bed too. As soon as I was safely inside, I found the music was coming from the stereo right across from me, on Jude's dresser. His music gave me headaches. Not like it usually doesn't, I swear its like everything Jude does just totally makes me want to flip out. Standing, I soon noticed my cell phone and my house key on the dresser, right in front of the stereo. Well, those would've been a big help if I actually had them.

Jude came into the room when he heard me shut the bedroom window. His head peaked through the doorway with a metal baseball bat gripped tightly in his hands. Seriously, who would break into this dump? Well, unless Jude and his stupidity forgot to pay one of his druggie friends.

"Do you have to climb through the window?" He spoke loudly over the music.

"Do you always have to blast this 'slit your throat' music?" I responded as I turned down the volume on the stereo. "Besides that, I forgot my house key and my cell phone again." I unzipped my jacket and opened the closet door. "And somebody didn't hear me banging on the front door to begin with."

"You never banged on the door, Zan." He answered. Jude was always so sure of himself and for the life of me I could never understand why. Most of the time he was wrong.

I hung my jacket in the closet and then stared back at him. "Look, I made it home on time, could you please just get off my back about this?" I looked over at the clock. Okay so I was a little late but I had to climb through a fucking window!

"You're ten minutes late." He responds. "Probably out with those girls again."

Oh yeah, because that is exactly why I'm ten minutes late. Not because he locked the God damn door, because I was gallivanting for ten minutes. Sure, whatever.

"And that's why you climbed through the window, so I would think you already came through the door." His voice was aggravated, as always.

"Listen, do we have to make a big deal out of this right now, I have things I need to pay off." I said.

"How much did you make?" He asked. It was like Jude always needed to know, so he could pay off his buddies and buy some more of that stupid shit, lose his mind and pass out for a few hours.

"I made 300." I lied. "But we really need to pay off these bills or we'll end up evicted." I continued.

"We won't be out in the streets Zan, trust me I'm not an idiot." He replies.

Ha! I wonder about that sometimes.

"Listen, I need to pay off one of the guys, he's been hounding me for his money."

"One more week, the bills come first." I responded as I walked into the hallway to see what type of mess Jude has left for me to take care of.

"Zan, I don't have one more week. This guy has been after me for about two." He answered. "C'mon, just let me borrow 200 and I promise I won't bug you for the rest of the week."

Liar.

I sighed and slipped my hand into my pocket again and only pulled out three hundred. I'd have to pay the bills off when he's either not around or when he's dead asleep and tomorrow I'll go buy some food to at least fill our cabinets.

"Don't come crying to me when there's not enough food in the house, Jude." I slapped the two hundred into his palm and turned around to clean up his pigsty.

"You're the best babe." Jude answered.

Yeah, only when you want something. Other then that, I'm a piece of shit.

* * *

"Dude, she just hustled you," some tall lanky guy said to his friend that I'd just schooled in pool. The guy just laughed and handed me the cash he'd lost. He saluted me before heading over to the bar with his friend. I was at Pogo's, a local bar and pool hall.

"Who's next?" I asked, putting the bottom of my cue on the floor and leaning confidently. Playing pool really is like nothing for me. No one that comes here is at my level. Not even Monica though she hustles too. Cards are more her game though.

A tall, well-muscled guy stepped up. His hair was dark and brushed his shoulders and he had a piercing through his lip. He had two sleeves of tattoos and as he chalked his cue I noticed his knuckles read 'Drug Free'. I smiled at him and racked the balls.

"He's cute," my friend and co-worker Monica said as she leaned over my shoulder. We both eyed him and I nodded in agreement. "Max said he's a pro wrestler. He's in the big league too. CM Punk or something like that," she told me the information she'd gotten from her brother who just so happens to be the bartender.

"You got a name?" I asked.

"Phil. But I answer to Punk too."

"Zandra," I told him, offering my hand. He shook it and smiled. Nice smile. His eyes kind of light up.

"So, what're the stakes?" he asked, chewing on a piece of gum. I glanced back at Monica who smirked before turning back to Punk.

"How much you got?" I questioned. He's obviously well to do if he's a big time pro wrestler.

He chuckled and brushed his hair behind his ears. "Two hundred." That's about as much as I've made so far tonight. Most people aren't dumb enough to bet me over twenty bucks. Hustling is kind of my... side job, if you will.

I threw my crumpled earnings in the middle of the table. "Two hundred it is then." He raised his eyebrows before shrugging and throwing his own money on the table. Monica collected it and held it in her hand. "You wanna break?"

"Ladies first," he offered. I laughed and broke the balls, immediately sinking two solids in. "You know, they warned me about you," he said as he took his shot, gesturing to a few guys at the bar. "Said you hustle dudes for money all the time."

I shrugged. "Hey, the guys that come here should know better by now. I don't play around but they keep trying to beat me. You probably should've listened to them." As I said this he sunk in two stripes.

"I don't know, I think we're evenly matched."

* * *

"I can't believe he beat you," Monica hissed. Neither can I! I stared at the table in shock. This dude seriously just beat me!

"Just give him the fuckin' money," I told her. Shit. I just lost everything I made. Jude's gonna kill me.

"Hey, here," I heard Phil call as I walked past him. I turned and saw he was offering me my money back.

"You won it fair and square," I declined. I play fair. It's my own dumb fault for thinking I was the best.

"Well, what if I wanna change the bet. Keep your money and since I beat you... you can give me your number." I heard Monica laugh unbelievably and I gave her a look over my shoulder. I found Phil offering me his cell phone and the money. I took both and punched my cell number into his phone, then pocketed my money when I handed the phone back to him.

"C'ya," I said and rushed over to Monica.

"Girl you're crazy. What about Jude?" I swallowed and shrugged. Obviously it crossed my mind that I had a boyfriend but maybe I was only still with him because I needed a reason to leave. Who knows, Mr. Wrestlemania over there could just be that reason.


	3. Chapter 2: To Call or Not to Call

**Disclaimer: **We don't own the WWE

**A/N:** Hey all! Thanks for reviewing! We appreciate it! Here's chapter two! This one's in Punk's POV. We're going to have every other chapter in his POV.

* * *

**Secrets Don't Make Friends by Madame Morrison, Shelliosity and Cara Mascara**

**Chapter 2: To Call or Not to Call**

"You're starting to look pathetic." The voice of Scott Colton, or Colt as most people call him, made me look away from the pool game I was concentrating on.

"Huh?"

"Stop gawking at that chick." Okay. So maybe it wasn't the actual game I was so interested in, but more one of the players. I chuckled, a little embarrassed at my lack of stealth when it came to checking girls out. But she's a hot chick. I can't really help it. And I doubt I'm the only guy here doing it. Blonde, good body, tattooed, nice face. Sure a few parts of her look a little surgically enhanced, but hey, it doesn't look bad.

"Know her?" I asked. Colt's around this place a lot more often than I am.

"Nah. I see her here a lot but I don't know anything about her except she wins at pool all the time and her names Zelda or something weird like that."

"It's Zandra actually. Girl's a regular pool shark. I can't remember a time when she's lost," the bartender said from in front of us, cleaning out a glass. I glanced over my shoulder at the girl again as she collected money from her opponent.

"Yeah? I think I'll play a game," I said and stood up form the bar stool, finishing off my Pepsi before I went over there.

The bartender chuckled and shook his head. "Your funeral dude." I shrugged and left Colt at the bar just as she asked for a new opponent.

"Who's next?" I stepped up and smiled at her, chalking a cue I'd picked out. I'm not too shabby at pool myself. I'm interested in testing this girl's skills. She smiled softly at me and her friend came up behind her and whispered something. Then they both eyed me and the friend whispered something else. Hey... they're talking about me. I got a little self-conscious, I won't lie. Both girls are on the pretty damn hot side. "You got a name?" Zandra asked.

"Phil. But I answer to Punk too."

"Zandra." Yeah I know. I was totally grilling you and fishing for info over at the bar. You don't know that though. I took her offered hand. Soft skin. Nice.

"So, what're the stakes?" I asked. She glanced back at her friend who smirked. Why do I have a feeling I'm being set up?

"How much you got?" Damn, this girl doesn't play around.

I chuckled a little at the idea of putting down all my money. That's a bit of a risk. I'm definitely not going to let this chick hustle me. "Two hundred." I'm confident in my pool skills. I play as often as I can. I think I can give her a run for her money.

She tossed a pile of crumpled bills onto the table. "Two hundred it is then." I raised my eyebrows and her friend collected it. I swear if I get cheated... "You wanna break?"

"Ladies first." Hey, I'm a damn gentleman. She sunk two solids. "You know, they warned me about you," I told her and nodded over to Colt and the bartender who were watching with interest. "Said you hustle dudes for money all the time."

She shrugged her shoulders and had a little bit of a proud look on her face. "Hey, the guys that come here should know better by now. I don't play around but they keep trying to beat me. You probably should've listened to them." I took my shot and sunk two stripes in. She looked a impressed and surprised.

"I don't know, I think we're evenly matched."

* * *

"I can't believe he beat you." I hear Zandra's friend hiss. They both looked completely shocked. Yeah, I won.

"Just give him the fuckin' money," Zandra snapped at her friend. She looked really stressed about losing her money. Her friend handed me the cash and I felt bad. I'm not exactly in financial trouble or anything here.

"Hey, here, " I called to Zandra before she walked away. I offered her the money back. For all I know, this is the girl's only job. I only played her for fun. I don't really care about the money.

She put her hands up. "You won it fair and square." Damn it, just take the mon- whoa. I just got a brilliant idea.

"Well, what if I wanna change the bet? Keep your money and since I beat you... you can give me your number." Her friend burst into laughter behind us and I frowned. Oh man, she's a lesbian, isn't she? I still offered her my phone though. God, I'm going to feel like a retard if she's a lesbian. She took it though. Phew. She added what was hopefully her real number and gave me my phone back.

"C'ya." Wow. She's giving me 'fuck me' eyes. Sweet! I went over to Colt again and she rushed over to her friend. I grinned at Scott and he raised his eyebrows.

"I can't believe you beat her," he told me.

"Who cares if I beat her. I got her number." I think I'll call her when I get back later in the week. I have to go on the road for a few days and I leave tomorrow morning. But wait, maybe I should call her tomorrow and just make plans for when I get back so she doesn't think I blew her off. Or I'm an asshole. But if I call her right away, I might seem desperate. Which I'm not. But she doesn't know that. I don't think she knows who I am. She didn't seem to recognize me.

Shit girls are confusing.

* * *

Sitting in the back seat of Matt's car, I listened to Shannon and Jeff talk on about their upcoming Hardy Show episode. The next WWE show wouldn't be taking place in Illinois, which kind of sucks considering I really don't get to spend as much time home as I would like.

I had the Hardy's and the Reject stay at my apartment instead of bunking in a small hotel room for about seventy-five dollars a night and so for a thank you, they invited me to tag a long in their drive. Which isn't bad really. The company is always good when you're on the road as much as we are when it comes to a line of business such as this.

Pearl Jam circled its way throughout the car from the stereo as the drive commenced and although it's not really what I'm into, I'm not going to complain. These guys are doing me a favor, plus we switch off when one of us gets tired and that means the driver can play whatever he wants.

I lay my head against the cushion of the seat and closed my eyes. Maybe if I try hard enough I can drown out the music and Shannon's big mouth.

"Didn't get much sleep last night huh, Punk?" Shannon says.

Or not.

"Not really," I replied, opening my eyes again.

"Up late looking at Internet porn?" he chuckled.

So not funny.

"Just couldn't sleep."

"Man, you've got to stop looking at that stuff, its so bad for you," Shannon continued on.

My head turned and I stared at him. "I'd get some sleep if you'd stop snoring." Jeff burst out in laughter, not even able to finish what he was telling Matt.

"Looks like he told you, Shan," Matt commented in between giggles.

"I don't snore," Shannon pouted.

"How would you know, dude? You're asleep when you're doin' it!" Jeff came into the conversation, looking at the two of us from over the front passenger side seat.

"Whatever, bro," Shannon mumbled.

"Aw Shan, don't get you panties in a bunch 'cause he beat ya at your own game, man. Punk's just playin', dude," Matt said, his eyes looked over at the Reject, who slumped in his corner all pissed off.

And if I wasn't?

Don't get me wrong Shannon's cool and all, but sometimes he can just get a little bit annoying when he goes over the edge with his little jokes and what not.

"Jeez, Shan don't be such a drama queen," Jeff remarked.

Shannon leaned into Jeff's seat and landed a punch on his right arm. "At least I don't look like a walking coloring book."

"Children don't make me turn this car around!" Matt jumped in, trying to act like a parental figure. It would have been convincing, if he weren't laughing.

I don't think he would want to anyway; Matt ran three stop signs before and I swear I heard police sirens after us moments ago.

Let's just hope I get out of this drive alive.

* * *

After making it to our destination without getting pulled over or badly injured, I met up with Maria, my ex girlfriend. As I sat in the bar and chugged down some Pepsi, she came up behind me grabbed the Cubs cap right off my head and placed it on her own. Maria made herself comfortable on the stool next to mine, taking over my mug too.

"So, why are you so happy all of the sudden?" she asked.

"Nothing, why?" I respond.

"Because you just seem so unbelievably happy for someone who is nocturnal," she explained.

"It's nothing, Ria." She roles her eyes, picks my Sidekick up off the counter and flips it open to play with it. "What are you doing."

"Well, funny story," she started. "I was coming here with Ashley and while I was trying to put my cell phone down and also keeping my eyes on the road at the same time…" She paused for a second while looking through my phone. "…I accidentally dropped it in Mickie's coffee." I couldn't help but laugh.

Could she really be serious?

Maria looked up with a bit of a smile and a low chuckle. "The good thing is, my phone has insurance, so I sent out for a brand new one last night and had it delivered this morning." She smiled.

"Okay, so why must you play with mine?" I asked.

"Because I dropped my phone coffee. It kind of won't turn on anymore, so I need to borrow yours and copy all of the numbers," she explained.

"Why can't you ask Lisa or Ashley if you could borrow theirs?"

"They don't want me to drop theirs in a puddle or the toilet or any wet place since the coffee incident. They won't even let me play with theirs."

Can't say I blame them for not letting her? I moved my Pepsi mug closer to me, thankfully unnoticed by Maria.

"You and me know all of the same people," Ria continued. "So it just works out better that way."

She grabbed a napkin and a pen, sat my phone down on the counter again and began to start copying any of the numbers that she recognized. Her expression changed as she came to the last part of the list and Maria looked at me with an arched eyebrow. "Who's Zandra?"

"She's just a girl I met." I wonder if I should even tell Maria that much, I don't want her to go all crazy on me with this twenty questions thing she always seems to pull.

"Is she pretty?" She pondered. "Do you like her?"

Well, too late for that.

"I--" She cuts me off.

"Is she a new diva or something?"

"No. She's a girl I met last night while I was playing pool with Colt."

"So do you like her?" Ria asks.

"I don't know. I mean, I just met her." I respond. "Look, I've got to go. I have things I need to do before the show tonight." I got up and Maria handed me my cell phone as I replaced my Cubs cap back onto my head.

"I'll talk to you later," she called after me.

* * *

To call or not to call.

That is the question.

On one hand, I don't want to seem needy or desperate, because I'm not. Trust me, I have girls throwing themselves at me on a daily basis. But I'd like to start dating outside of wrestlers and the fanbase. But on the other hand...

... she was very attractive. Sure, she's had a few things surgically altered but that's never stopped me before. Who doesn't want to go out with a hot girl who can play a mean game of pool and actually had a drink absent from her hand in a bar. Yeah, I noticed.

I'm calling.

One ring, two rings, three rings, four rings. Shit. She isn't going to pick- _"Hello?"_

I cleared my throat. "Hey, um, this is Phil... from the-"

_"I remember. I've been waiting for a call. What's up?'_ My body relaxed when I heard her voice. She actually sounded kind of excited that I called. Maybe it's just me being dumb...

"Nothing, nothing. I just got back from Canada."

I like the way her laugh made the phone buzz and vibrate against my ear. It tickled. _"What the hell were you doing in Canada?"_

Ah, the moment of truth. "I work for the WWE. I'm a wrestler and we were touring Canada."

_"Ooh, yeah. That must be fun, hmm?"_

"Yeah, I can't imagine doing anything else with my life."

_"That's awesome that you're so passionate about it."_ Wow, a girl who clearly isn't a wrestling fan didn't say 'But isn't it fake?' when I told them about it.

"Yeah. So, what do you do?"

_"Oh, me? I'ma... waitress. I waitress at a Country Club."_

"Yeah? Must be pretty snazzy."

_"Yeah, you could say that. Good tips. Lots of big spenders."_

"Nice, so uh, how old are you?"

_"You want the 4-1-1? I'm surprised you didn't get it at the bar. Name; Zandra Halliwell, yes, by birth. Age; twenty-one. I've lived in Chicago my whole life. I ran away from home when I was seventeen. Art school reject. My boobs, hair, lips and hair are fake. Don't want to take you by surprise or anything."_ She giggled at the end of her bio.

Wow, I'm a little taken aback. That was blunt.

_"So, your turn."_

"Heh, okay. Phil Books, twenty nine, born and raised in Chicago, been wrestling for more than ten years and I don't drink, smoke or do dugs."

_"Really? Me neither... never have."_ Her voice got a lot softer now.

Score.

"I was calling to see if you wanted to get together some time in the next few days. I go back on the road on the eleventh, but I'll be around till then."

_"Yeah. Yeah, let me check my work schedule."_ Some papers shuffled around in the background while I waited patiently. _"I'm free tomorrow night. Say, eightish?"_

"Perfect."


	4. Chapter 3: Sleeping Out

**Disclaimer:** We don't own the WWE.

**Authors:** Shelliosity, Madame Morrison and Cara Mascara

**A/N:** An update, in honor of Punk's exciting title win last night! Yay bybee!!

* * *

**Secrets Don't Make Friends**

**Chapter 3: Sleeping Out**

**-Jude's POV-**

Another line was gone from the coffee table. Damn, this shit is good and strong. Around me were a bunch of my buddies and some of their friends too. We were all trading some shit. Some drugs for other drugs, and some drugs for cash. Me, I got some pretty good deals with the money that Zandra coughed over to me. Acid, E, crack and some weed. I even got myself some smokes.

I handed over some stuff too, making a few bucks while I was at it. I was on a roll and life was pretty easy with Zan bringing in the goods. I loved it.

I did another line. And then after it was gone, I rubbed my nose a little, sniffing once more to get it all in.

"Hey man, try some of this," said my friend, Tristen. He's the one that usually hooked me up with the good stuff.

"What is it?" I asked.

"Some pills" was all he said. "They do some pretty wicked shit to ya."

I didn't think twice about it and stated crushing the pills.

**-Zandra's POV-**

Coming back home, I was a little exhausted from work. I just was hoping to go home, go to bed and not have Jude mooch me for MORE money and bug the ever-living crap outta me. I just wanted to relax.

As the bus dropped me off, I stepped off, throwing my bag over my shoulder. I continued to walk forward, but as I looked over at my door, I saw a bunch of people just waltzing in! Okay, what the fuck is going on?

I hurried up and tried to rush over to see what was going on. Why were people just coming into the apartment? I didn't speak to any of the strangers coming in. I just knew that Jude had something to do with it.

I flew up the stairs and opened the door, and I saw Jude and his addict 'friends' getting jacked on freakin' drugs!

I sighed, just utterly fuming and pissed off. "Get out, now."

They obeyed and scattered on out the door. I couldn't believe he was actually pulling this shit!

I threw my hands up at him. "What the heck, Jude?"

"The fuck'd you do that for?" he questioned me.

"You can't be doing this!" I yelled. "You keep bringing these people in, we're gonna have cops coming in here! Fuck! I support you, I care for you, and you're gonna have both of us locked up!"

But standing up for myself, wasn't such a good idea because right then, a large hand connected with my face.

It stung with and shocked tears welled in my eyes. I held my face and gaped at Jude. "You ... hit me."

"Now you'll know not to mess with me." He said so calmly it was a little frightening. But it was gone when he started to yell, which may have been even more terrifying. "You listen to me, you got it, little whore? I am the man in this house. I control you and your ass. Don't you ever fucking holler at me again! Or you'll be fucked, I promise you that!"

Tears just began to roll down my face. I ran to my room, I just couldn't even face him right now.

I didn't want to stay in this crappy apartment any longer, so I decided I wasn't going to. Sitting in my room and crying like I'm five years old wasn't going to help me either. With my mind made up, I forced myself off of my bed and out the door. Jude raced over to the doorway to call after me.

"Where the fuck are you going?" he yelled.

"None of your business!" I replied without turning back to look at him.

This time I wasn't going to stay and accept his abuse.

"Get the hell back here!"

"Go overdose on one of your drugs!"

I walked a few blocks to Evangeline and Monica's apartment building. I'm tired, I'm aggravated and I have nowhere else to go but here. I knocked on the door instead of ringing the doorbell, knowing that Eva had probably already put down Evie for bed. After waiting a few minutes Monica came to the door and the tears that had stopped began to pour themselves out again.

Monica didn't question me. She just pulled me inside, walking me into the tiny living room. It wasn't too difficult to figure out that Jude was a complete jackass. Even an idiot would notice that. I sat down on the loveseat as Monica pulled a tissue from the tissue box and handed it over to me.

"You seriously need to get rid of Jude," she finally spoke. Monica wasn't saying it to be mean, in all honesty she's right. I do. I really need to get Jude Bradford out of my life before I'm sucked in so deep that I can't get out.

"And go where?" I asked between sobs. "This apartment is way too small to hold another person and I've got a few things I'd like to take with me."

"I understand that, but living with him isn't going to make your life any easier then it is. He's wasting your time and he's spending your money like you have an ATM slot up your ass and a never ending cash flow!" Monica answered. "Seriously if you don't break away from him, you'll end up in the streets either way you think about it."

"I'm going to be homeless." I replied.

"There are other apartments you can afford by yourself. Eva and I will start looking in the papers for you," Monica pointed out. "You can't keep moping around like this though."

Within the few minutes I had been there and had the small conversation with Monica, Eva emerged from Evie's bedroom after finally getting her to go to sleep. "I'm going to knock that guy out one of these days," she growled as she looked over at me. "He needs a reality check, badly."

"He could at least get a job," Monica replies.

It's no big secret to me that my two friends think that Jude is a waste of life and air. They're usually the first ones to tell me that, but they're the only ones I can turn to when I need help, no one else seems to give a crap about me.

* * *

"Hey, your phone's ringing Zan." Monica and I groaned, expecting it to be a not so happy Jude. I grabbed it off the end table and checked the unfamiliar number coming up on the ID. "Who is it?"

"I don't know." I opened the small, black phone and pressed it to my ear. "Hello?"

_"Hey, um, this is Phil... from the-"_ My jaw dropped a little as he began talking and I made a muscle at Monica, trying to tell her who it was.

"Ooh, it's the wrestler that beat her at pool," Monica informed Eva and I nodded, confirming.

"I remember. I've been waiting for a call. What's up?" It really had crossed my mind that he'd taken my number. I figured he wouldn't call though after it took so long. I don't know what I'm doing. I must be crazy to be having some wrestler call me when I have a boyfriend, especially one like Jude. I mean... it won't end well.

"Put it on speaker," Eva whispered. I held down the button and put the speaker on, listening to Phil and making myself comfortable.

_"Nothing, nothing. I just got back from Canada."_

I laughed and Eva raised her eyebrows. "What the hell were you doing in Canada?" Monica made a gesture that represented smoking a joint but I shook my head, remembering the tattoos across his knuckles.

_"I work for the WWE. I'm a wrestler and we were touring Canada."_ Eva licked her lips and Monica waggled her eyebrows.

"He's hot. And muscled," Monica informed Eva, who laughed. I put my finger to my lips, trying to get them to quiet down.

"Ooh, yeah. That must be fun, hmm?"

"Yeah, I can't imagine doing anything else with my life." He has passion, a job and obviously morals if his tattoo speaks the truth. I like that. Meeting a great guy is terrible when you have a not so great seeming boyfriend.

"That's awesome that you're so passionate about it."

_"Yeah. So, what do you do?"_ I froze, not sure if a guy this great was going to be cool with me being a stripper. I'm very interested in getting to know him. I don't want to fuck this up. I looked at the girls questionably and they both shook their heads, which I took as a sign not to tell him the whole truth.

"Oh, me? I'ma... waitress. I waitress at a Country Club." Monica made a face and Eva frowned. Shit, maybe they were telling me not to lie.

_"Yeah? Must be pretty snazzy."_ Yeah. It's a nice club. Minus the dirtbags who frequent it.

"Yeah, you could say that. Good tips. Lots of big spenders." Monica stated laughing and muffled it with a pillow. I bit my lip nervously. Shit, maybe I shouldn't have lied.

_"Nice, so uh, how old are you?"_ All right, he asked for it. I'm not going to lie this time.

"You want the 4-1-1? I'm surprised you didn't get it at the bar. Name; Zandra Halliwell, yes, by birth. Age; twenty-one. I've lived in Chicago my whole life. I ran away from home when I was seventeen. Art school reject. My boobs, hair and lips are fake. Don't want to take you by surprise or anything." Eva and Monica both started laughing at my mini-bio and I couldn't help but giggle at them and myself. "So, your turn."

_"Heh, okay. Phil Books, twenty nine, born and raised in Chicago, been wrestling for more than ten years and I don't drink, smoke or do dugs."_ That last part killed me. That's the complete and utter opposite of Jude. The guy who just slapped me across the face when he's supposed to love me. I felt... warm at that information. Eva definitely sensed this and smiled softly.

"Really? Me neither... never have."

_"I was calling to see if you wanted to get together some time in the next few days. I go back on the road on the eleventh, but I'll be around till then."_ I shouldn't. I really shouldn't. I'm not sleeping at home tonight, but I do have a boyfriend. I should say no. Eva and Monica didn't help me out on this one. They just waited.

"Yeah. Yeah, let me check my work schedule." I checked my date book in my purse and saw I wasn't working tomorrow night. "I'm free tomorrow night. Say, eightish?"

"Perfect." I might be insane to go behind Jude's back like this, but I really want to see if this could go anywhere. This guy could be my ticket out.


End file.
